


No Word, No Bond, Row On

by Basic_instinct40



Series: If I Live Too Long I'm Afraid I'll Die [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Amputee Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Feels, Gallows Humor, I will not have Sam Wilson used for free therapy, Identity Issues, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Male Friendship, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, References to Depression, SOFT BITCHES, Sam Wilson Feels, Stress Baking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24009478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basic_instinct40/pseuds/Basic_instinct40
Summary: “Yeah, sure. Invite yourself to my home. Does Steve know you’re here?” Sam’s voice sounds annoyed, but Bucky sees that he’s putting on a pair of brown house sandals to step outside.“I left a note.” Bucky slides the van door open so they can both grab the brown grocery bags that sit in the backseat. “I’m not under house arrest, Sam.”Sam jostles for three bags to lay against his hip. “Yeah, not anymore, at least.Alt summary: Sam and Bucky make cookies while talking about their sex life.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: If I Live Too Long I'm Afraid I'll Die [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1731574
Comments: 10
Kudos: 92





	No Word, No Bond, Row On

**Author's Note:**

> “And why is it that we can see our friends perfectly but when it comes to ourselves, no matter how hard we look, do we ever see ourselves clearly?” –Carrie Bradshaw

“I haven’t had coffee.” 

Bucky smiles into his phone at Sam’s less than warm greeting while making his twelfth consecutive lap around the perimeter of his neighborhood. This was his fourth time calling Sam during his walk, and Bucky had it in his head that if he didn’t answer by the fourteenth lap, he would run the 250 odd miles between their houses. 

“The way I hear it you had plenty of drinks last night,” Bucky teases him. 

Sam groans, sounding tired. “You know I’m starting to think becoming friends with a couple of super soldiers wasn’t the best idea.” Bucky hears the sounds of Sam getting out of bed, or more than likely his couch. Sam’s clumsy steps echo throughout his home in D.C. “A man decides to have a couple drinks and calls his buddies. What’s wrong with that?”

Bucky stops walking and studies a dandelion that’s growing between the cracks of the sidewalk. “I wouldn’t say anything wrong with the behavior necessarily, but then I don’t think I’m the best person to get your social cues from.” 

“You could be right about that,” Sam says. “But like I said before, I haven’t had coffee yet. Is Steve upset?” 

Bucky starts walking again. “You know how Steve is, you tell him you're fine, he takes that at face value. I overheard you two talking last.” 

“So eavesdropping,” Sam grunts. “Not cool, man.” 

“I was concerned,” Bucky exclaimed. “Plus I thought you two were making secret hangout plans without me. You know, Captain America need to know stuff. No ex-assassins allowed.” It wasn’t Bucky’s best material, but Sam was always good for an easy laugh. 

Apparently Sam wasn’t good for it today, because the only thing Bucky got out of him was a sigh that sounded as if Sam was the one over a hundred years old. “No one’s making plans behind your back, Bucky. I just had one too many last night, and I needed”-- Bucky keeps quiet, trying to give him time. “Well, that was last night.” Sam finishes. 

Bucky didn’t have much of a plan on what to say to Sam after he made sure he was okay. Last night he recognized the emotions in Sam’s voice, even if Bucky couldn’t place a name on them. He also recognized the bravado that Sam used to cover those emotions while on the phone with Steve. Bucky hasn’t been drunk in decades, but he knows the signs of drowning your sorrow. Sam’s “fine,” didn’t hold much value to Bucky.

“Sam, I could come up there-”

“Please, I don’t need you in my hair. You stay down there doing whatever it is old folks do, alright. Sam’s tone moves from serious to lighthearted. “It’s still the weekend. Can’t have you cramping my style.” 

Bucky opens his mouth to argue, but Sam rushes him off the phone. “I gotta go, man. Touch base later, alright?” He doesn’t wait for Bucky to respond before ending the call. 

**********

Sam answers his front door wearing a black crewneck sweatshirt, black joggers, and no shoes. He doesn’t seem surprised to see Bucky, but he blinks extra slowly, taking deep breaths in and out. Bucky notices that there’s dried toothpaste on the corner of his mouth. 

He elects not to tell him about it and works to control his own breathing after being in the car for almost three hours. “Hey, can you help me get the groceries out of the van?” He waves his one arm at Sam and gestures his head to Sam’s driveway. 

“Yeah, sure. Invite yourself to my home. Does Steve know you’re here?” Sam’s voice sounds annoyed, but Bucky sees that he’s putting on a pair of brown house sandals to step outside. 

“I left a note.” Bucky slides the van door open so they can both grab the brown grocery bags that sit in the backseat. “I’m not under house arrest, Sam.” 

Sam jostles for three bags to lay against his hip. “Yeah, not anymore, at least. Plus, you break out into cold sweats when you drive, so what gives? My home isn’t exactly Bucky Barnes, freak-out ready.” 

Bucky follows Sam into the kitchen, rolling his eyes along the way. He wasn’t wrong about Bucky and driving. Usually he stuck to walking or Steve taking him places, hating the feeling of confinement inside the metal contraption, but he couldn’t shake the way Sam’s voice sounded on the phone. Bucky could override his anxieties if a mission was on the line. 

Taking in the state of the house, Bucky sat the sacks of groceries onto the kitchen island. There was unopened mail covering the white counters and dirty dishes in the sink, and Bucky didn’t let his eyes linger too long on the empty bottles of liquor standing at attention on the counter. He’d only been here once, practically a year ago, but to him the room wasn’t recognizable. 

Bucky ignores the mess and glances at his friend, offering up a smile. “Promise I won’t freak out. I brought cookies.” 

*************************************************************************************  
Bucky pulls out multiple packets of semi-frozen sugar cookies. Sam notices the bright green Shamrock on the cover of each one.  
“Were you hoarding these past St. Patrick’s Day?” Sam asks. 

“I like them,” Bucky shrugs and continues to unload the groceries. “Did you know they make one for every holiday?” Sam huffs out a laugh. 

“Yeah, man. I know about take and bake cookies.” He turns to his kitchen sink and starts up fresh water for the overflowing sink. 

Bucky finished setting out everything he brought over, including every milk alternative his grocery store carried. He wasn’t certain what kind Sam liked, and Bucky had yet to try quinoa milk. Sam eyes the rest of the ingredients, his arms elbow deep in dishwater. “What’s with all the oats and walnuts?” 

“Well,” Bucky takes his time responding, unwrapping himself from his rust-colored poncho and draping it over one of Sam’s mismatched kitchen table chairs. “Steve is suspicious of artificial food coloring and he will be pretty ticked off when he reads my note.” Sam’s face twists itself into a frown at Bucky’s words. 

“Alright, don’t give me that sour apple look.” Bucky brings up his one hand to stop whatever tirade Sam is about to unleash his way. “I figured with us being Steve’s best guys, we could make him a batch of his own cookies.” He beams hard at Sam the way he has seen Vanna White do on Wheel of Fortune. Bucky had been practicing the expression in front of the mirror. 

“I dont think a bunch of weird cookies will stop Steve from hunting you down, but I’ll help you make them, if you promise to never murder grin at me like that ever again,” Sam tells him. “Wait, have you not called him?” 

Bucky turns his back to Sam and grabs all the empty bottles of liquor off the counter, dumping them in the garbage bin. “Sure didn’t. I left my phone back at the house.” 

He ignores Sam’s wails and walks to his oven. “Do you already have pre-heated settings or can I fiddle with these buttons?” 

******

Between the three of their hands they manage to wash all of Sam’s dirty dishes, wipe down his counters, and eat two pans of sugar cookies. Sam takes a bathroom break, and while wiping the leftover toothpaste off his face, he fires off a text to Steve. 

Steve, of course, calls immediately, but Sam still has enough of a hangover: both chemically and emotionally, he sends the call to voicemail, not feeling up to conversing with drama queen Rogers. He sends another text in all caps in between Steve’s third and fourth call. 

The calls stop, but Sam knows that Steve never gives up on Bucky Barnes that quickly. He whispers, ‘Fuck it,’ and shuffles back to the kitchen to find Bucky going through his cabinets. He doesn’t bother to pretend he isn’t rifling through Sam’s shit, choosing more of a ‘make myself at home’ approach to the situation and opens another cabinet. 

“Wilson, where do you keep your cutting board?”

“Uhhh bottom right drawer. Near the dishwasher.”

Bucky pulls out a small white cutting board, frowning at the sight of it. “This is for cutting meats, Wilson. Not nuts. Also you have a dishwasher, but you don’t use it?” 

Sam sinks into one of his chairs, feeling weighed down by each one of Bucky’s comments. He feels weighed down by the past few years and lets himself slump down into the chair, covering his eyes with his palm. “Dishwasher’s been busted for a while now.” He doesn’t address the cutting board. What could be said about the cutting board?  
Bucky hums, but doesn't say anything else. Sam doesn’t uncover his eyes and instead listens to Bucky moving around the kitchen. His body tenses up when he hears the unmistakable sound of a knife sliding out of its home, but he forces himself to calm down, remembering Bucky is an ally. 

“So Steve and I are having problems in the bedroom.” 

Sam drags his hand down his face and gives Bucky his full attention. The other man pulled out Sam’s forgotten blender and was busy placing walnuts and macedonians nuts into it. “I’m sorry, what now?” Sam asks. 

Bucky turns his entire body to look at Sam. “Problems. In the bedroom,” He repeats at Sam like he’s an idiot. “Me and Steve,” He points at the fridge. “Hey can you hand me the cashew milk?” he asks before starting up the blender. 

Sam does what’s asked of him, pouring himself a glass of milk, because Bucky has purged his home of alcohol. When the blender stops Bucky continues talking as if there was never an interruption.

“So, okay. We got into a tremendous fight over if I’m actually attracted to the guy. Can you believe that?” Bucky adds milk to the blender without measuring it, along with vanilla extract, sugar, and what Sam thinks is flour. Bucky starts the blender up again. 

“Mixing bowl?” He asks Sam when he turns it off once more. 

Sam digs around his cabinets until he finds the one mixing bowl he owns. He usually eats cereal out of it. “What did you say to Steve when he told you that?” 

“I told him he was a fucking moron.” Bucky stops scooping the cookie dough out of the mixing bowl giving Sam a look that says, “What else would I have said?” 

Sam laughs, not unkindly at his friend. “You could have maybe not called him names. Could have gone a long way in the easing his fears department.” 

“Steve doesn’t want to ease his fears. He wants to add to them and tend to them, like some morose stamp collection.”

Sam laughs again, not disagreeing with Bucky. “He does enjoy worrying, but I see the way he looks at you. Steve wants things to work out between you guys.” 

Bucky blushes under Sam’s speech. “Maybe he does, but he’ll have to trust me when I say I want something. Not contradict himself when it serves him.” He sticks the homemade cookies in the oven and sets the timer. “More shamrock cookies?” 

Sam opens the fridge to grab the hemp milk. “Why not?” 

*********************************************************************************

“So Steve liked you in the 30s, but you didn’t like him until he started showing interest in Peggy, but then you fell off the train?” Sam punctuates the air with a cookie. “Did I get that down right?” 

Bucky does his best to glower at Sam from across the dining room table, even as his cheeks protrude out chipmunk style. He’d been eating the cookies three at a time. Taking a drink of oat milk to help him swallow he answered, “Yes and no.” 

Sam put one cookie in his mouth like a civilized human being and spread his hands out wide for Bucky to explain further. 

Bucky stretches his neck from side to side until he feels a satisfying crack. “Alright, I knew Stevie was interested in me romantically, but obviously that wasn’t going to happen.” Sam opens his mouth to interrupt, but Bucky shook his head to stop him. “You can say whatever you want about the neighborhood we grew up in and yeah, we were roommates. There was an opportunity, and I’m not dumb. I knew what was what when it came to pleasing another guy.” 

Sam’s eyebrows shot up, and Bucky shrugs with his residual limb. 

“The fact of the matter is that Steve was sick for most of our lives,” Bucky’s face goes blank as he slips into the memories. “With all the other routine shit we dealt with in our daily lives, throwing in an illicit same sex relationship wouldn’t have help either one of us.”

Sam picks up another cookie, but didn’t eat it. “Yeah, I could see that not being the best choice for you guys.” 

Bucky nods. “Right, so I let Steve’s moon eyes become background noise to me. Figured he would find the right girl eventually or die from one of his various illnesses.” 

Sam shoves the cookie into his mouth, chewing it like it was his mortal enemy. 

“Slow down there, bud. You’ve seen the old pictures of Steve. He was one strong breeze away from floating out into the Hudson. Had to tie him to my wrist like he was a balloon during hurricane season.” Bucky picks up the last two cookies and shoves them into his mouth. 

Sam laughs like Bucky wanted him to. “Yeah, yeah. We get it. You and Steve have a dark twisted humor due to your traumatic upbringing during the fucked-up depression.” Sam waved his fingers out in lazy, jazzed hands. “Riddle me this, gramps. Why didn’t you say something when Steve got the serum? I mean I know there was Peggy, but come on?” Sam zig zags his hand towards Bucky’s body. “You’re weird, for sure, but you look damn fine in a suit.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Bucky tips an imaginary hat at Sam. “If Steve wasn’t alive and I didn't have glaring intimacy issues, I would definitely let you slap me around.” 

“You’re avoiding the question and being weird.” 

Bucky gives Sam a smile that he hopes is genuine, he means for it to be, but it was tough sometimes remembering all the appropriate facial expressions at all the correct times. 

“Well, the Bucky from before recently came out of a POW camp,” Bucky can tell that Sam is trying hard to control his emotions, to not spook the specter sitting at his dinner table. “Again, Peggy was a suitable woman at the time.” He rolls his eyes comically at Sam. “Worthy of Captain America.”

Sam clears his throat twice. He’d become used to Bucky referring to his former self as a different person, knowing that it could be clearer for your brain to handle trauma if it thinks it happened to someone else. Some people drank to handle their shit, others invented different identities. Different strokes, Sam thinks. 

“And now?” Sam asks Bucky. He gets up to grab more milk, giving the other man space to answer. 

Bucky uses his index finger to push his hair back behind his ear, tucking his chin into his chest and reminding Sam of a shy street cat. 

“And now he knows that I’ve always known, but he thinks I want to--,” Bucky flaps his hand around in the hair as if he could grab the right words down from Sam’s ceiling. “I dont know, pity fuck him or use it as an elaborate thank you.” He stares down as Sam green checkered tablecloth, his eyebrows nestled together to form one frustrated unibrow.  
“Here Steve, have my ass. Thanks for all the forgiveness I don’t deserve,” Bucky sang out in a false cherry voice. 

“Alright, alright,” Sam tells him, one palm in the air as he sits back down with his glass of milk. “We don’t need to get into specifics.” 

Bucky wiggles his eyebrows at Sam, which impresses him far more than he liked to admit. “Come on, pal. We should be able to talk about these types of things.” Snapping his fingers and pointing across the table, he tells Sam excitedly, “Oh, It’s like those ladies on that show I watch sometimes. Fucking in New York. You can be Charlotte.” 

Sam drains the last of his milk, taking his time before he answers. “It’s Sex in the City, and I’m sure as hell not a Charlotte. I’m a Samantha.” 

Bucky blew a raspberry, while getting up with a cookie sheet and taking it to the sink. “Please Wilson, you wish. If anything you’re a Miranda and that’s cutting it close. I mean when’s the last time you even went on a date?” 

The light smile that Bucky had coaxed out of Sam disappears, his face guarded with last night problems. “Don’t have time for dates when I’m chasing you old men around and dealing with my regular job.” 

Bucky leans against the broken dishwasher, nodding slowly. He took in the piles of Sam’s unopened mail, and the full garbage bin. “You know, Natasha said that you, her and Clint had been going on lots of missions lately. How’s that been going?”

“Wow, slick, man.” Sam started clapping slowly. “They teach you interrogation tactics like that in super secret spy school?” 

Bucky’s face and neck color strawberry red, and he turns away from Sam to open and close the cabinets. “I binged watch the first 3 seasons of Sluts around Town, so that I could have this conversation with you, Wilson.” He slams more cabinets, not pulling anything out of them. “You could at least meet me halfway.” 

“It’s Sex in the City, and it’s not nice to call those women sluts. Those guys were just as slutty.” Sam rolls his eyes at Bucky’s back. “Also I never asked for you to come over here and talk about things with me that aren’t your business.” 

Bucky whips around and jabs his index finger into the air. “So you’d rather I let you drink yourself to death on your lumpy couch. You’d rather no one care what goes on with you?” He lowers his arm, but his tone remains intense. “Sam, you’ve done more for me without reason, than anyone else has in a long time. Stop acting as if you have to do everything alone.” 

Sam stays quiet and Bucky lets him be, running water in the sink. The only sounds are Bucky cleaning up the mess he made, not wanting to leave Sam with it. 

“My couch isn’t lumpy, I’ve had it since I came back from my first tour.” Sam’s voice is quiet, almost a whisper, but he knows Bucky can hear him. “It belonged to my friend, a guy named Riley. I’ve told you about him before, but it was back when you weren’t doing so hot.” 

Bucky grabs a dish towel to dry his hand and turns towards Sam. He knows the time that Sam is talking about, right after he let Steve find him. After almost two years of running, revenge, and a body with injuries on top of injuries, Bucky finally surrendered. He doesn’t retain much from those first few weeks, but Bucky can recall Sam’s smooth voice floating over him while he slept. He’s sure stories about Riley are there somewhere. He nods at Sam to proceed. 

“Yeah, so. Riley and I.” Sam drags a hand across the table, unsure of what to say next. “We were close, closer than I’ve been with any other guy friend so--,”

“Jesus Christ, Wilson. I’m past a 100 years old,” Bucky slaps the dish towel down on the counter. “You can say you two were sticking it to each other. Steve already told me.” 

“So I have no privacy?” Sam raises his voice, looping his palms behind his back. “Don’t you geezers have more important things to discuss than me?” 

“Get on with it, Wilson.” Bucky snaps his fingers at him. “The other geezer will eventually track me down. You, Natasha, Clint. What’s the story?” 

Sam sighs, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “It’s not the easiest thing for me to talk about. You should get that.”

“I do, Sam, but you still need to talk about it.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Sam says, but he doesn’t say anything further.

“Steve finds it odd that I only want him to cum,” Bucky says this the same way a person tells you to put on a jacket before you go outside. _The weather man says it will be chilly this evening, thought you should know. By the way, here are my sexual hangups._ Bucky follows it up with, “Thinks it’s a part of my whole scam. Doesn’t see how I get off on him pounding my head in.” He flashes Sam a seductive grin. “Literally.” 

Sam holds both hands out in front of his face, wishing for the millionth time he had never met Steve Rogers. 

Bucky opens his mouth to continue, but Sam pulls his thumb across his throat. “Nope. You’re cut off from words. Donezo.” He finally stands up from the table, taking his empty glass with him. Sam hands it to Bucky, who washes it. 

“The three of us went out two nights ago, when both of them were in town.” Sam starts off, his eyes on Bucky’s hand as it dunks the glass into the water. “Things were going well, and we had been out a handful of times. I suggested they both come back here and well. You know.” 

Bucky thankfully doesn’t say anything crude this time. He rinses off the glass and places it in the drying rack. “Right, okay. Then what happened?”

“Nothing horrible, Clint was great. Natasha was Natasha, but more,” Sam searches for the right word to describe the ex-KGB agent. “She was just more present than I had ever seen her before.” 

“Then what’s the problem? You still like them, right?”

Sam laughs, his eyes now transfixed on the floor. “I sure do. It’s just been a long time since I’ve done this song and dance.” He looks up, but not into Bucky’s eyes, which he knows Bucky prefers. “The last person I did this with died.” 

“Sam, I get it, but Nat and Clint can still die even if you don’t stick your dick in them.” 

“Wow, man. Did Carrie Bradshaw give you that advice?” Sam walks over to the stove and opens a cabinet above it, taking down a box of sandwich bags. “You got any more gems like that to toss my way? I wanna use them on the guys down at the VA.” Sam starts shoving the cookies they made for Steve into the plastic. 

“No, look, don’t misunderstand me.” Bucky tries to backpedal. “All I’m pointing out is that if you like them, then you should explore that.” He sweeps his hand over to the garbage bin. “Drinking your emotions and punishing yourself for being alive and possibly happy isn’t a way to live.” 

“I’m not punishing myself,” Sam stops playing tetris with cookies to give Bucky his full attention. “That’s not what the drinking was about.” 

“Please, you think I don’t know what last night was?” Bucky shakes his head at Sam. “I live with Steve, I live with myself. Recognizing self-condemnation is second nature to me.” 

Before Sam can argue with him again, Bucky quickly steps in front of him. For all of his new found silliness, cookie baking, and daytime TV watching, Sam never forgets the damage Bucky can inflict if he wants to. When Bucky gently takes the sandwich bag from his hand, Sam forces his body to relax. He opens an extra bag for Bucky to place the rest of the cookies in. 

“Give them and yourself a chance, Sam,” Bucky tells him. “Don’t make yourself more unhappy just because that’s what you’re used to.” 

Sam doesn’t argue any further and Bucky doesn’t pry for more information. Sam wouldn’t say he felt better, but he doesn’t feel as heavy as he did when the day started. 

From inside they both hear a car door slam and Bucky’s mouth turns into a tight line. “Steve’s here.” He doesn’t look at Sam when he says it. 

Bucky walks towards Sam’s front door and waits in front of it, looking like a man walking to his death by firing squad. Sam never saw anyone looking so thrilled to be executed. 

Steve knocks on the door politely, but sharply. “It sounds like a cop knock,” Sam tells Bucky as he goes to unlock the door. “Yeah, I’ve told him that. He thinks it’s funny.” 

**********************************************************************************************************

Steve won’t laugh at any of Bucky’s jokes and when he hands Steve one of the sandwich bags of homemade cookies, he puts two in his mouth without looking at them. He grinds the cookies down between his super human molars, the muscles in his jaw overworked with animosity. Bucky looks at him expectantly. “What do you think?” 

Steve shoves one of his giant hands into the pockets of his brown bomber jacket along with the bag of cookies. He finishes chewing, swallowing hard enough to make his Adam’s apple bobble cartoonishly.“That’s a cookie. Thanks.” 

Sam grits his teeth across the kitchen island at Bucky, twisting the cap of his liter water bottle that Steve brought each of them. He had arrived in a Lyft, annoyed from having to track Bucky down and also because he had to sit in the front seat beside the driver. 

“The man kept talking about his grandchildren and his fried food of the month club,” Steve rants at Sam, shoving a gas station bag into his arms. 

“That sounds unhealthy and you don’t have to talk to the driver if you don’t want to, Steve,” Sam told him as he pulled the water out of the bag. 

“I’m not going to be rude to a stranger that I had to beg a ride from.” 

Bucky sighs aloud, flinging up his arm. “You didn’t beg a ride from him, Jesus Christ.” 

Steve ignores Bucky and gestures towards the water. “Bucky is usually forgetful regarding his hydration, and I figured you would need it.” 

Sam was about to say thank you before he hears Bucky scoff. “Great present, Steve.” 

Steve ignores Bucky, but Sam sees the top of his ears turn red before he lumbers off to Sam’s kitchen. Sam cocks his head at Bucky and hisses as low as he could manage, “What are you doing?” 

“I don’t know. Sorry.” He hisses back, eyes wide. They both follow Steve into the kitchen where they now stood, awkwardly waiting for him to speak again.

Sam takes a long drink from his water, feeling exhausted by the day’s events. “Alright listen, I’m going to finish my water, lets say--,” He peers at the bottle. “About midway through,” Sam points his water across the kitchen island. “Bucky’s going to help me wrap up these dishes and drink his water, then you guys are going to get the hell out.” 

Steve sniffs and twitches his nose, drawing his forearms around himself. He doesn't look directly at Bucky, but instead tilts his head away from him to show Bucky his thick external artery. It makes Bucky feel soft at the moment, and even though Steve was mad at him, it was nice to be in Sam’s kitchen, alone together, smelling like cookies. 

“Sorry, Sam. We will be out of your hair in no time,” Bucky tells him. He takes a swing from the water bottle and Steve watches him do it in that way that doesn’t show he’s looking. 

Bucky and Sam wash up the reminder of the dishes while Steve sorts Sam’s mail into different piles. He doesn’t explain his system to anyone, but Sam figures it can’t hurt anything. Before they leave Steve takes the trash out and Bucky puts in a new liner. 

He shakes the rest of the cashew milk at Sam, Steve right behind him, patiently waiting. “You can have the rest of the milk. This is the only type I really like.” 

“Glad to be stocked up on milk. Thanks, J-man.” He mocks salutes at Bucky, who flips him off in return. Sam walks them to the door, clapping Steve on the back twice. “Talk to you later, right?” 

Steve turns to him before opening the front door. “So you guys just ate cookies all day?” he swivels his head back and forth, giving them both the full weight of his disappointment. It isn’t his Captain America disappointment face. Anyone could get used to his theatrical paper-mache truth and justice act if exposed to it long enough.

The real Steve Rogers’s face of disappointment left you wind slapped and nauseous. It was a face that had gotten Bucky to go to school every day and stop his petty thieving when he was younger. Bucky had a few looks of his own and was more than willing to whip one out to get what he wanted out of Steve. 

Pulling his arm around himself, he peers up at Steve through his lashes. “Steeevvvee,” he drew out his name. “It’s late and I’m tired. Let's go.” 

Steve’s arms jerk out to grasp at Bucky, one warm bear-like paw gripping his neck. “Stop, Buck. We are leaving. Say bye to Sam.” 

Bucky grins out at Sam while Steve tells him they would talk later. “Remember what I said,” he calls back. Steve opens the passenger door for Bucky, protecting his head from being hit by the top of the van. It reminds him of when the police arrest their perps after a lengthy game of cat and mouse. Bucky wants Steve to drag him home by the nape of his neck and tear him apart.

**Author's Note:**

> Shout out to my discord writing group who put up with me and shout out to Tori for beta reading this.


End file.
